


I'm Your Man

by Delphi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chivalry, Courtship, First Time, Gender Roles, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Kingsley was Kingsley and Moody was unexpectedly courtly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Your Man

Kingsley Shacklebolt stood six feet, four inches tall. _Imposing_ was a word often applied to him, and he supposed _intimidating_ would be the alternative if he had not cultivated so mild and self-effacing a manner as to compensate for his stature.  
  
He had always been the tallest student in his class ever since dame school, mistaken for a man from the time he was a boy. He stooped in all but the most grand or modern doorways. He loomed in groups, invariably half a head above the conversation.  
  
No one, to the best of his recollection, had ever held a door for him in his life.  
  
Until Alastor Moody.  
  
"After you."  
  
Kingsley paused, taken aback at how smoothly Auror Moody had stepped in front of him out of nowhere to pull open the office door.  
  
"Er," he said indistinctly, still not entirely confident in the realm of casual conversation with his superior officers.  
  
"Hurry up," Moody said, looking oddly flustered. Then again, agitated seemed to be the man's natural state. "I haven't got all day."  
  
Kingsley stepped through the doorway warily, expecting an immediate admonishment. He had a suspicion that in Moody's world, you were never supposed to be first through a door in case hex-fire waited on the other side, or you weren't supposed to enter a room without your wand drawn, or you were never supposed to put your back to an armed man who wanted to teach you a lesson.  
  
All he heard, however, was Moody's footsteps behind him and then the quiet sound of the door falling shut, and that was that.  
  
 _Huh_ , he thought.  
  


* * *

  
  
Kingsley weighed sixteen stone, with a build often compared to various sturdy outbuildings. He had never had trouble clearing a path for himself through a crowd. People tended to step aside for him and, if pressed, employ fancy footwork to avoid treading on his toes.  
  
That was why he wasn't sure what to make of it when, one afternoon on the way to a department meeting, Moody put a hand on the small of his back and started steering him through the busy corridor.  
  
To be fair, they had been engrossed in conversation about surveillance techniques, and Kingsley had to bend down to hear him properly when they entered the din of the main artery during the midday rush. He felt the warm, firm press of Moody's hand a few polite inches above his backside and took it at first as a brief steadying gesture.  
  
It lingered there, however.  
  
Moody's face did not betray so much as a twitch, beyond its usual twitches at least, as he conducted Kingsley from the north wing to the south.  
  
"Now, you always want to cast a hear-me-not before your disillusionment charm, or else—" Here Moody paused, shooting a glare past Kingsley. "Watch where you're trampling, Robards!"  
  
The hand on his back hooked around his waist, and Kinglsey was reeled in, barely missing a brush of shoulders with Gawain Robards.  
  
"Thanks," Kingsley said vaguely, feeling himself go hot and blaming it on the crush of traffic.  
  
If Moody heard him, he didn't acknowledge it, nudging him into the meeting room and towards the briefing table, where he pulled out a chair for him.  
  
 _Oh_ , Kingsley thought, looking down at the chair with slow realisation. He looked at Moody, who was looking away resolutely at the far wall, his face even ruddier than usual, with one hand still at the small of Kingsley's back and the other upon the chair.  
  
A smile tugged at Kingsley's lips as he sat down.  
  
"Like I said, always hear-me-not first..."  
  


* * *

  
  
Kingsley knew fourteen ways to hex someone without lifting his wand. He had been first in his class at Hogwarts in Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. He had survived training as an Auror and had made it through his first year without getting himself or anyone else killed, which he was given to understand was the best one could really hope for.  
  
"Come on," Moody said one night as they were leaving the pub after their shift. "I'll walk you home."  
  
His first inclination was to point out that he was capable of walking home safely by himself (but Moody would draw on him, wouldn't he, just to prove a point) or that he wasn't expecting any trouble in the ten blocks between the pub and his flat (except, as Moody would point out, he should always be expecting trouble). Then he considered the chance that this could be some sort of come-on.  
  
He was no stranger to those, not even during his short stint at the Ministry. Usually, it was wordless glances in alcoves or locker rooms—quick and veiled, in case it was mistaken and Kingsley had a temper. Outside of the department, it was shy looks and maybe a hand on his arm. _"I feel so safe knowing you're looking out for us."_  
  
"You don't have to," he finally said, attempting to cover either intention. He was neither green nor drunk enough to require an escort to get home safely, and he was fully up for a grope against the wall if that's what Moody was after.  
  
Moody shrugged. "It's on my way."  
  
Kingsley had been under the impression that Moody had a house in Norfolk, and while his flat was indeed north of the pub, the assertion didn't quite ring true. Still, they set off through the cool autumn night, comfortably in step, each with their wand arm on the outside.  
  
Winter was coming. It was the first night Kingsley could taste it on the air, and he gave his arms a brisk rub when they prickled with gooseflesh, reminding himself to take his cold weather robes out of storage. He heard the rustle of cloth, and a moment later, Moody's cloak settled over his shoulders.  
  
It startled a laugh from him. " _Really?_ "  
  
"Problem, Shacklebolt?" Moody asked gruffly.  
  
He smiled and then reached over and experimentally took hold of Moody's elbow. A moment later, Moody tucked his hand under his arm and gave it a pat.  
  
"No," Kingsley said, wondering just how far this gentlemanly streak extended, and hoping it stopped just short of the bedroom. "Not a one."


End file.
